


Outtakes - Hearth Keeper

by Out_Of_Custody



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Situations, Companion Piece, Hearth Keeper, Sexism in Science, use a title
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:47:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Out_Of_Custody/pseuds/Out_Of_Custody
Summary: Some scenes don't fit and some scenes would have toppled like... the whole story so far, but wouldn't it be interesting to know what Jane did until now? Wouldn't it be interesting to know more about Kate and Peter? And what about The Matt Incident? Or the things that will still come?Companion-piece to Hearth Keeper | snippets, chapters, alternate endings, the whole shebangwill extend according to the main story





	1. Our paths could have crossed another way

**There could have been another way of Clint meeting Darcy again**  
in which Clint is not entirely deaf (yet) and New Mexico makes a reappearance

 

+++

 

“You’re benching me.”—it’s not a question. Clint can… understand their point of view, somewhat. His arms are hurting like hell and from what Widow has reported he’s lucky the million pieces of glass didn’t cut something too major; he is – was… is – concussed and his ears have been acting up again. But they wouldn’t do this to any of their other team-mates.

He knows because they’ve accepted Tony fighting on when he was in a similar condition – it came as no surprise to anyone when he finally came around to admitting just _what_ the Arc-Reactor in his chest was for; and they have let _Bruce_ in his civilian form partake in a skirmish; when the Red Skull has found a method to steal Steve’s Life Force to enrich his own, they still let The Captain take his place on the battlefield.

But apparently not so Clint Barton.

“You need to heal, Clint.”—fuck Steve and his reasonable Bullshit; he’s annoyed as hell and until someone is going to explain he will remain thusly.

Thor is suspiciously quiet in the background; as is Hulk – which is unusual, given that their heavy hitters are generally vocal as fuck, on and off the battle-field. Despite the perceived united front the team seems to be on this, he can’t help but think something smells a might bit foul here.

But if they won’t say anything, he will not ask – he thinks he has deserved the honour of, at least, being told the truth.

Nobody moves.

“Right.”—he’s disappointed. “I need to heal.”—he’s _bitter_ for fuck’s sake, but he sucks it up like a bite of Grapefruit and glares defiantly at the leader. “I suspect you have a place for me to do so?”

And there is the slide of blue eyes to the right and downwards; at least The Fossil has the decency to feel ashamed and Clint wonders, for a second, whose idea it has really been. The big guns seem rather ashamed all in all, not really wanting to speak up. “I believe you are already familiar with Puente Antigua?”

 

\--

 

Clint somewhat likes New Mexico; it’s not Iowa for certain, but he has spent a lot of time around here a few years ago and… it grows on you, somewhat. However, coming back here to ‘heal’ is not his idea of a good time. Not even when it’s for a SHIELD facility – especially not then, to be honest, because he’s well aware that it’s a training facility and generally sucks balls.

He wants to perch on high buildings, watch people scuttle around like ants and go about their business, wants to shoot tennis-balls that bounce about the room with a wrap around his eyes and make 10/10. _Healing_ is different for him, but he agrees that he needs to recalibrate – especially because…

 _Hey there soldier_ —his musings at the desolated Grey-Hound Stop are interrupted by two hands moving, signing, into his field of vision. They are dainty hands, roughened skin, decorated with eccentric jewellery that reminds him of the fortune teller that sometimes travelled with the Circus. The nails are a deep vermillion and precisely cut, in stark contrast to the skin of the hands.

His head lifts from where he’s staring at the ground, lost in thoughts, to meet two powder-blues he has last seen through his lens a few years back. He’s never met her close up, even when they – because she is part of a ‘they’ – moved to a Stark facility not far from the Tower; but he would never forget those eyes.

“Hello Ms Lewis.”—the vibrations in his chest indicate his above-average pitch in voice, and when he realizes this, he winces. Trying again he puts his hand to his diaphragm and repeats, much quieter: “Hello Ms Lewis.”

Darcy doesn’t seem to be phased by this at all. _Thor said you’d be coming._ —she lets him know as he stands, slinging his purple sea-bag over his shoulder. _I hope he didn’t step on your toes too much._

“’s alright.”—he waves it off. It’s actually somewhat nice to know that the Asgardian still looks out for him, despite his silence during the metaphorical expulsion, but he doesn’t quite have the patience and make to talk to her about _that_ just yet. Or anyone. “Didn’t know you signed…”

She gives him a smile that is too broad and happy to be directed at someone like him. _Had to get my credits somehow, learned a new language._ —she replies and, yeah, it makes sense. Her form is a bit stilted, but quite formal and she writes out words she doesn’t know, it’s cute and makes him uncomfortable at the same time.

 

+++

 


	2. Jane 12/2015

**Jane would never give up Darcy easily  
** in which a scientist discovers her beating heart and makes friends with big green and pompous genii

 

+++

 

**Dec 1** **st** **2015**

“What do you mean gone?”—Jane blinks at the young woman in front of her. “Out for coffee? Well when is she going to be back? Can you call her? I need her like right-“

“Ms Foster.”—the other woman gently prompts and Jane shuts up because Darcy has taught her that this is how the ‘normal humans’ indicate their desire for a turn of speech, so Jane would give it to her, even if the brunette has apparently forgotten, that Jane holds a PhD in her particular science. Darcy has too taught her that reminding other people about it would, however, a) not get them to use said title any sooner nor would it b) endear her to them.

Not that she needs to endear herself to anyone – you know, rationally; because she’s an accomplished scientist and she’s been told repeatedly that those are generally in the ‘assbutt’-category of human beings, but her mother is English and has never quite failed to hope that her little girl might find reason to employ her god given talent for manners, instilled into her by the York Blood flowing through her veins.

Darcy is that reason; but Darcy is not here right now and the irksome woman in front of her is taking her time explaining _why_.

“Ms Lewis’ contract has expired exactly a week ago on the 23rd of November 2015.”—she shows some paperwork, the dates and the signatures – both hers and Darcy’s – marked by neon-pink, arrow-shaped post-its.

Jane wonders briefly at the preparedness of the woman as she bothers – in the first time since about three months – to peruse the document in front of her; this has always been Darcy’s thing rather than hers.

“I am here to offer some sort of supplement until your current employer has found a suitable replacement.”—the woman says at the same time that the only thing in Jane’s mind finally spits out in the words of: “This is unacceptable.”

The astrophysicist refuses to feel guilty or even awkward about it, when silence ensues promptly afterward. Instead, she does what Darcy has always done in these situations, she squares her shoulders, broadens her stance and gives the woman a square look.

“If you excuse me, I need to rectify this.”—she turns before the other woman can even _think_ of an answer.

 

**Dec 3** **rd** **2015**

“Ms Foster-“

“Dr Foster.”—she’s tired but like hell is she going to let any of them step over her and on her title _again_.

“Dr Foster.”—he smiles indulgently as if he’s doing her a favour calling her by her title instead of making use of common decency and respect. Darcy’s contract is lying between them, dangerously close to the grubby fingers of the man in front of her, on the other side of the table.

She’s been told he is part off HR and responsible for most internship-contracts; ergo: the person to go to if there is an error in any kind. Jane sincerely hopes that this is a mix-up because if not then so help them Odin.

 

**Dec 10** **th** **2015**

_Clank_

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Don’t shoot.”—she stretches out her hands, the empty palms facing the room under her as she tries to wiggle further into the opening she’s just created, hoping to give the person below a better view of her face.

“Ms Foster?”

“Dr Foster.”—she replies acidly; giving the second man who’d just addressed her a stern look. “I pay you the respect of addressing you as Dr Banner, you give me the same respect; that is how decent humans work.”

The other man, the first, gives her a sarcastic quirk of his eyebrow. “Decent humans do take the front door.”—he sasses her and it’s so starkly reminiscent of Darcy’s tone that Jane almost loses heart; but she’s come here with a mission.

“Yes, well, decent humans are also treated decently and since this has not happened in my or my _afl-hirða_ ’s case I’ve seen myself forced to deviate from social norms.”—Darcy would be proud of her employing the logics of soft-sciences; they’ve long but come to the conclusion that it made the majority of titled ‘hard scientists’ uneasy and was therefore always a good method of defensive-offense in a discussion with what Darcy has never ceased to call ‘the bigoted hard-science-patriarchy’ – Jane has never corrected her because as crude as it is, it’s true.

It works like a charm; the men look vaguely confused, then uncomfortable. Dr Banner is the first to regain his wits.

“Would you mind coming down from the vents?”—he ventures.

Jane gives him a look over the rim of her glasses. “I wouldn’t, no. But I do not fancy a drop like this, so if you, perhaps could see to procure a ladder?”

“You hear the fancy speech?”—the first man smiles widely as Dr Banner turns, exiting her line of vision; “No doubt Point-Break’s girl.”

Dr Banner re-enters her line of vision, bringing along a ladder that will allow her to safely descend from her current perch, judged by its height.

“ _Point-Break_ ,”—she starts as the ladder is being set up, “has a name and he might just stop putting slugs between your sheets if you were to use it now and then.”

Her foot is on the first rung when the expletives and ‘I knew it’s start from below her. She only faults them a little for falling for Thor’s I-know-nothing-routine; it’s a habit for him to keep certain things quiet and while she’s certain he meant no harm by it, she’s a little surprised that he’s been leading his team-mates on.

Finally down from the vent-shaft, it looks very high up now, she gives Dr Banner a curious glance when she finds that despite his friend’s rant, he has not taken his eyes off her. Interpreting her gaze, he crosses his arms, makes himself a little broader – Darcy would call it _ascertaining masculinity_ ; Jane is certain he’s doing it unconsciously.

“What were you doing up in the vents, Dr Foster?”—he asks in a voice that is much too innocent to portray mere curiosity.

Jane gives the other man an intensive look that she hopes conveys all the things she might do to him if he says no and, more so, the desperation that she does, indeed, feel. “I need you to find my Darcy.”

 

**Dec 11** **th** **2015**

**Hour 30**

“Well, this is what we’ve found.”—Tony – she’s allowed to call him by his first name, see nickname because his real first name is apparently a sore point for him – lets her know, throwing the accumulated information on a Hologram Monitor.

Darcy’s face shows up in a photograph a little beaten up, scratches on her chin, broken fingers and a few black spots – they go hand in hand with a police report on an attempted 212 with an extra-side of taking hostages. It would appear that her _afl-hirða_ had kicked through though and she had prevented the assault as well as any harm to her customers by thwarting the young man at an opportune moment.

“Quite the hero, your Darcy.”—Dr Banner – Bruce, he’s told her to call him Bruce three times now – smiles shakily at her. Jane nods absentmindedly, eyes still glued to the Hologram Monitor, cataloguing the injuries: she must have grappled with the boy, which was unusual for Darcy because she was one to fire her Taser first and ask questions later – it only occurs to her two seconds after that thought has crossed her mind that Tasers are technically illegal in New York.

“Are you content now?”—Tony asks her and this question tears Jane out of her stupor; she twirls around light-footedly and stares blankly at him.

“Content? Knowing that SHIELD threw her out with no means to support herself? Does she even have an address listed? Because I know her and I get the feeling that she is living out of the decrepit vehicle that she likes to coo at and calls a Van to anyone who asks – and she is not one for looking for help and _no,_ I am less than content to have my _afl-hirða_ torn away from my side I. Want. Her. Back.”

She might have come a little too close to Tony during her tirade and when a soft rumble to her left wakes her from it, she realizes that she has been closing in on Tony with a threatening finger poking at his Arc-Reactor with every point she made. She retreats, gives the two of them a careful look.

“I am sorry for that.”—she starts. “But I cannot go without her. Trust me, we have tried separation and it has not done us any favours.”

It had been a two month-period, right after Puente; because Darcy had been called away to deal with her University and Jane had delved right into work with Erik – they’d thought, all three of them, that this was a good idea, that they had nothing to worry about. Two months later saw both of the scientists unrested, sick and out of their minds; SHIELD’s Coulson had had to call Darcy back in.

Darcy on the other hand had returned with naught but her Van and the possessions that she could fit inside; namely: her laptop, a backpack full of clothes, a left-over sleeping bag from her days as a Girl Scout, CDs galore and a few, spare luxury items (such as cups or plates) that she had not been able to part from. She had not wanted to talk about what had happened and so Jane and Erik had not pressed.

“I cannot, literally, go without my _afl-hirða_ – even Thor has recognized this.”

Tony looked at her with something akin to frustration. “You keep throwing this word around like it’s supposed to mean something and I can’t even spell it properly. What is this… avol-hurd you keep-“

“ _Afl-hirða_.”—she corrects him. “It means _Hearth Keeper_. Thor’s mother – Frigga – was in such a position and while we, in our modern understanding, would interpret it as a Protector of the Hearth and the Home, it is much more than that.”

 

**December 12** **th** **2015**

**Hour 60**

“Do pardon my interrupting, but I will need to shut down the electricity currently sustaining the laboratories, Sir.”—FRIDAY’s voice cuts through the feverish stillness around them.

Tony is looking for any and all signs of Darcy’s whereabouts, running a programme with the help of the very AI that has just threatened to stop all procedures going on within the labs.

The man looks up at the ceiling, frown tired and confused. “Wha’?”—he slurs. “’s there ‘n attack?”

Neither he nor Bruce really do look worried, so Jane doesn’t think it is that bad, but she is still curious about the AI’s threat.

“You are currently not working at an optimal level of efficacy and I have been told to watch Dr Foster as if she were a part of my own circuitry; due to my programming, I have taken the liberty to include Dr Banner as well as you, Sir, into this directive.”

The lights are going out around them, the shutters slowly lowering to prevent the glare of the sunlight from entering the room – Jane has not even noticed that it is day outside – and the cots that she has known were always there but cleverly hidden, separate from the walls in a show of engineering ingenuity. The pillows look real fluffy.

“Who installed the directive?”—Dr Banner wonders, inching closer to one of the cots that looks as if it could bear the weight of a Rhino; her mind doesn’t even get as far as to wonder about whether or not someone has ever tried to weigh in The Hulk, when the AI answers: “Ms Lewis has asked me to do so as a last general directive upon her leave.”

It is the last thing she hears before a tiny robot carts her computer chair over to the cot and all Jane has to do is fall face front into the mattress – it’s a surprisingly soft mattress too.

 

**December 14** **th** **2015**

They are called away on a mission that she is not permitted to be privy to and if Jane is honest, she also doesn’t quite want to be but it throws a wrench in their plans.

She doesn’t know how she managed to convince Tony and Bruce to help her find Darcy, or why the sudden interest in the young woman, but they have helped her, despite the fact that they barely know her.

As it stands, she is farther ahead than before, knows, at the very least, that Darcy is alive, that she is more or less alright, that she has last been seen in a Diner-Fight – it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue as _Pub-Brawl_ does, but that’s another thing – and that she is still in NY.

That is more than she has had a week ago.

 

\--

 

The Diner is small, dingy and definitely a place that Darcy would have chosen for coffee and maybe even something to eat.

“ _Look for the disgusting ones, Janey, the ones you don’t dare enter because the windows are dirty, because the people look shady and because you can see the cook smoking around the corner. They’ll have the best motor-oil-coffee, trust me, you’ll be working like a machine for_ _weeks_ _.”_

She has not been wrong yet, so Jane takes heart and opens the door. A small bell announces her entering and as she sits down, she partly expects Darcy to sashay around the bar with a pot of dark, hot coffee. However, it’s not Darcy who comes to her, but a diminutive man of Far-Eastern ethnicity, the pot almost as big as his head.

He pours her a cup that he takes from the side-board; it looks clean, if a little old and abused by the dishwasher.

“Do you want anything to eat?”—he asks, drawing out the vocals in the words, and Jane wonders if he grew up in America or if he migrated during his childhood or teenager-years. She gives him a careful smile.

“Do you have anything sweet?”—she asks in return; the cook looked a little too shady for her tastes and she’s not certain he follows all the rules as according to the health department, but the cake in the vitrine looks positively delicious.

“Ah, yes!”—the small man peaks up. “We have an excellent Chocolate Fudge Cake. I would not dare eat more than a slice.”—he puts his free hand to the line of his hip with a sweet smile. “But I dare say it might do you well.”

Jane agrees; she has not had what Darcy would call ‘a real meal’ in about two or three days; her _afl-hirða_ would be mad if she knew. “I think I’ll try some.”

The first taste of the cake almost makes her cry because this is exactly like Darcy would make it; but if the small man notices, he, at the very least, doesn’t comment on it and Jane decides that she will return as she watches shades of grey pass in front of the fogged up window, sipping on her coffee.

 

**December 20** **th** **2015**

She is only partially surprised when she ends up in the Diner again angling for another piece of cake – a true New York Cheesecake this time around and even though both Tony and Bruce had given her curious stares once she’d left to ‘grab a bite’ she cannot bring herself to regret the decision.

Even though it takes effort to stave off the tears.

It really does taste the way Darcy would make it.

 

**December 22** **nd** **2015**

Maria Hill arrives with fanfare – once she is noticed that is; which happens as soon as she enters through the lab-doors, and Jane can’t even get a proper look at her before Bruce has pushed her behind him, Tony fronting with what she assumes later is either a forced clueless mask or a blank face. She doubts his anger is visible, given that even she knows how important Maria Hill is ever since the untimely demise of one Phillip Coulson.

Darcy has been inconsolable about Coulson.

“FRIDAY, what have I told you about SHIELD-goons?”—Tony snaps at his AI and it’s only now that she remembers that, technically – meaning contractually – she should not be present in the upper levels of the Stark Tower. She has her own lab.

Technically.

“Not to let them in unless it was a matter of highest importance.”—the AI replies smoothly. “Ms Hill has assured me that the subject causing her presence is of Level 8 importance.”

Jane sighs a little, reaching for her tablet and her notebook. While she doesn’t know what clearance Level she is, she is convinced that Level 8 is way above her paygrade – she makes to leave.

The back of Bruce’s hand on her hip stops her movement.

“This concerns you, Ms Foster.”—Hill’s eyes snap to her form the very moment she steps out from behind Bruce.

“Dr”—both men correct the other woman without missing a single beat and Jane could cuddle them, even though she is not certain she wants to stay.

“I’m not Level 8.”—she defends. “And I am certain that I’ll be able to do with the short-version too. Just give them the details and hand me a bulletin that is more small-print than actual text-“—Jane wants to continue, Thor but she has the _fuel_ to continue, when Bruce calmly taps her hip.

It’s as if he’s tapping out on her and Jane’s brain flashes through the odds of The Hulk making an appearance if Jane and Hill would get into the shouting match that she can feel they are aiming for. She takes a deep breath; steps back; glowers something ugly.

Hill doesn’t look phased at all, and if Jane is honest it annoys the ever living fuck out of her, but Thor would have to fall in battle before she employs such language. She’s always had Darcy for that kind of outlet; nothing and no one could tame her _afl-hirða_ ’s tongue and Jane had lived vicariously through her.

“I have been told to let you know under any circumstances, Dr Foster,”—Hill primly continues, voice tight and loaded. “that you are not, in any way, to contact Ms Lewis following her cessation of the contract.”

The floor under her feet feels weird – wobbly. Maybe that’s her knees though.

“Those are the terms listed in the SHIELD-issued contract that has been signed following the incident at Puente Antigua. Upon the termination of said contract, Ms Lewis was not to be contacted no matter the situations.”—Hill produces a paper, pushes it into the hands of Tony. “What you are currently doing and forcing unwitting people to subscribe to is a violation of the contract.”

Jane swallows; fuck The Hulk.

“And just when was I going to be notified that the contract of my intern was going to be terminated? As her employer there should, at least, have been a missive on my desk as well as my mailbox in order for me to be able to re-evaluate Ms Lewis’ terms of employment.”

She is livid now and Frigga help her but if the woman does not have an answer to this she will shoot holes into space and tear all of New York a new one – literally.

Maria Hill has the gall to give her a smile. “Ever since your employment at Stark Industries as part of your contract to SHIELD the employment of Ms Darcy Lewis has been taken out of your hands and delegated to our employees. The missive would have therefore arrived at one of our desks instead of yours.”

She turns, ponytail swishing tauntingly behind her. Jane wants to rip it out. 

“You are welcome to take this up with SHIELD, Dr Foster.”

Bruce has to hold her back from going after Maria Hill.

However neither he nor Tony manage to keep her out of SHIELD’s data-base for long – not when Darcy has, the last time she’s been there, in Puente, left them such a perfectly good in – and when she hands in her resignation from SHIELD the damage has been done.

Her boys – they have, for some reason, become _hers_ – have her back until she is well out of reach from the American grasp and safely ensconced in her mother’s apartment sitting at the big round table with a heavily spiked tea and a box of tissues.

She cries for a week.

Christmas is fucking awkward.

 

**December 31** **st** **2015/ January 1** **st** **2016**

She returns to the United States on what feels like an overloaded passenger flight that teaches her to never again fly Economy because the three children that she, of course, sits right in middle of, scream and bawl her ears deaf and her brain dead. Arriving at JFK Jane is convinced that 28 Days Later has had less convincing zombies than her.

The airport is filled with couples and families reuniting for the end of the year, friends falling around each other’s necks and a ridiculous amount of tourists – Jane hands the Clerk her passport and the woman actually looks surprised to find that she is American.

“Welcome back, Dr Foster.”

Jane smiles at her and a part of her feels ridiculously happy that even this person knows to address her ‘correctly’.

“Thank you.”—she replies as she takes her passport back, stuffing it into her purse as she passes through the gate.

 

\--

 

When the first fireworks explode in the night-sky she is shouting along to The Smiths’ Bigmouth Strikes Again, the heating in her car turned up to maximum and the road ahead of her is basically void of vehicles.

_Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking when I said_

_I’d like to mash every tooth in your head_

When she gets smashed in some dingy, motor-bar on the side of the Highway, she thinks of Darcy and the last time they’d laid literal waste to a Bar in Puente Antigua; the people would probably not want them back. Here though she breaks a few biker’s hearts.

 

**January 3** **rd** **2016**

“I cannot actually believe you, Foster.”—Tony snipes at her with a grim smile. “Here you are, back in the beautiful US and you don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t even make a peep. If it weren’t for FRIDAY I wouldn’t even know you still existed.”

She takes his tirade with a small smile that she gives him over the rim of a coffee cup – it’s not the motor-oil-gruel from the small Diner in Williamsburg, but it’s close and she can feel it burning the most pleasant trail down her throat and into her empty stomach.

“I’ve ended my contract, Tony. The most I’m coming back for is my gadgets and packing them up will need more than the perfunctory hour that SHIELD and SI grant their dishonoured and discharged.”

Bruce watches her with little, droopy eyes from Tony’s side – she has stopped questioning if the Bio-Engineer really does go everywhere Stark goes after the third day of being ensconced in a lab with them. In a way Bruce is Tony’s _Jiminy Cricket_ , always at his shoulder, a warning to not let things get out of hands, over his head, or even both in a way that Tony’s Devil-May-Care-Persona might have let them a few years ago. It’s a strange if perfectly functional relationship.

“You weren’t at the New Year’s Celebration.”—he says quietly and it’s both, more accusing and gentler than Tony’s rant.

Jane puts the cup down. “I didn’t get an invite.”—she deflects a little confused.

“Of course you did! I sent-!”—Tony stops abruptly in his boisterous reply and swirls around to Bruce with a face that screams realization. If his face could morph it might just be a single exclamation mark; Jane’s head conjures a quick image before she can stop it – it’s been too long since she’d given it a real task, her brain is getting antsy. Whatever is happening between the two of them right now as they exchange looks, it has been in the making for a while and there has likely been a precedent.

Tony turns back to her, a hand on his chin and a dark mine on his face. “Step into my parlour.”

Jane doesn’t hesitate; she needs to know what is going on. 

She needs to know if this can help her get her Darcy back.

 

+++


End file.
